


Silver Lining

by starbunny



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Low Chaos (Dishonored), M/M, Pain, Post-Low Chaos Ending, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2018-12-04 16:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11558883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbunny/pseuds/starbunny
Summary: Gifted with the ability to transform into a fearsome wolf, it should have been considered a blessing, a wondrous miracle, but to Daud, it is nothing more than a painful curse, the cause of all the suffering and misery in his life. He's been shunned and rejected one too many times now, and enough is enough. If people won't accept him for who he is, he'll force them to, no matter what it takes. But choices always matter to someone, somewhere, and sometimes, the consequences that come back are just too much to bear.





	1. One Encounter

There is a dead silence in the night and rolls of thick white fog saturating the air, obscuring the vision of those without the sense to _see_. Light is but an illusion of safety. Shadows hide in light, pockets of shifting darkness waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting. 

And in an alleyway, deep inside a treacherous maze in the heart of Dunwall, walks a single guardsman decked in navy blue, whistling. 

A gun in his belt and a wrapped up sandwich in hand, he whistles the next line of the song, Drunken Whaler, before falling to a hum, starting to unwrap the sandwich.

Somewhere in the dark, melded together with the shadows, a creature sniffs the air, snout raised to the sky. The creature is not unlike any wolfhound you would find sauntering beside an Overseer, slightly bigger perhaps, with fur glossier than a typical mongrel, fur like tiny little icicles shimmering under the moonlight. 

Its ears perk up at the sound of the crinkling of paper, and the creature drops back to the ground, sniffing a few more times before launching into a sprint. 

There is the pattering of paws - more rhythmic and calculative than an ordinary hound - as it crashes through the puddles left after the latest downpour. 

The guardsman spins around. 

The sandwich is ripped out of his hand with a deft swipe, wet fur brushes across the guardsman's hand for but a mere second and the creature is gone, dashing off with its prize.

A loud shout follows, but it is quickly swallowed by the darkness, lost to the night sky. It is far too late. The animal is long gone.

But the creature remains wary even when the guardsman is beyond sight, its ears are still straight upright, and it only slows its pace once it reaches an abandoned house at the outskirts of the city, tunneling through a hole in a fence where tufts of dark brown fur are snagged at the corners. 

It sniffs the air once more, in all directions, before nosing its way through the open door, and finally coming to a stop in what used to be a bedroom of some sort. 

It places the sandwich down, gently, and shrugs off whatever dirt and water that have gotten trapped in the fur. 

There is a few long moments of silence, and suddenly, the creature starts to spasm. 

A sickening crack, bones breaking, several more follow in succession. Then an exhale, and silence. 

A hand – a human one - reaches out to grab the clothes hung at the back of the door. 

The sandwich is then lifted off the ground, and carefully teased open. The two slices of tomato stuffed inside are tossed aside carelessly, and the sandwich is assembled back together, brought up to the mouth. 

And the boy - nearly a man now - sighs, biting into his meal.

Another night, another theft. 

He opens his journal, hidden under a loose wooden plank in the floor, and pulls out a pen. 

It is dark, but the boy can see as clear as day. 

A hasty hand - unpractised - writes the events that occurred in the day, and finally, at the end, it has the usual sign off.

 _Daud_.

\----------

A different night now, the creature once again prowls through the alleyways, searching, sniffing.

He smells fresh fruit somewhere, a shop, most probably, laughter yet elsewhere, and continues on. 

A few more streets, and he spots his prey. 

Another lone guardsman, whistling on his nightly patrol. Not the same one as before. This one is blond, not black like the other day, but that isn't what told the creature they were different.

It is the smell. 

The one the other day smelt of fruit, pears, apples. This one smells of whale oil, pungent, and of blood, copperish, also pungent. 

He’s holding a wrapped up sandwich and an apple in the other hand. 

The creature hates the smell of blood, but the smell of fresh fruit emanating from his hand is too enticing to ignore. He's not eaten one in weeks, not a fresh one, and certainly not whole. Whatever fruit the creature managed to salvage were mostly rotten, or bits and scraps he licked off from a half-eaten piece tossed aside by some snobbish, fat noble. 

He starts to salivate unconsciously, while his paws lead him out in the open. The smell grows stronger, and stronger, and before he knows it, he pounces on the man, jaws open, teeth ready to clamp into - not flesh, but fruit. 

He meets flesh instead, and blood is drawn, stinging to his sensitive nose. He releases near instantly, backing away in panic. 

There is a yelp, a loud curse echoing in the air, and the gun is drawn. 

It is much too late to run. 

A shot rings out, and the creature topples over. 

"Fucking mutt!" The man growls. 

The smell of blood hits the creature face on. His mind is reeling, completely uncoordinated, it takes him a while to realise it’s the smell of _his_ own blood, and he scrambles to get back up, already trying to map out his escape route. 

But all he sees is a flash of sliver gleaming under the moonlight, and wisps of smoke coming out from the barrel of the pistol.

He stops thinking, lets instinct take over. 

The creature has never attacked anyone willingly before, he never liked the taste of blood in his mouth, and it shocks him at how easily his teeth sinks into warm flesh, breaking through the tender barrier of skin to draw blood. 

He tastes _foul_. 

The man yelps, and the creature lets go, absolutely repulsed. There is blood everywhere, the smell, the taste. On his paws, his fur, soaked into his tongue, it’s _everywhere_ , and the creature gets back up on his paws, all too ready to run. 

Except the sword comes back down in another arc, slicing straight down half of his face. 

More blood is drawn. 

And _pain_. 

So much pain. Pain everywhere. 

The creature falls over, whimpering once, but the man doesn't stop. With a sick grin, a heavy kick is slammed into the creature’s belly. 

Another, and another, until they all blend together into mind-melting pain and the creature can’t even move an inch anymore. 

Finally, after an eternity, through the blurry smog of blackness, the man stops. Darkness, thankfully, finds the creature quickly, numbing every part of his body that hurts, and he is swept away into a blissful haze of unconsciousness.

\----------

When he wakes, there is only pain.

He whines, a soft, barely audible noise, but the pain doesn't stop. 

"Hush, it's alright." 

And the creature snaps up, bursting through the dark fog of blackness and exhaustion. 

Colour and light hits him like a slap in the face, but he barely has time to register anything. His nerves are on overdrive, the only thing he sees is a hand reaching out, and that's _it_ , he pounces.

Teeth sinks into flesh, for the second time in his life. 

More blood - this one tastes strange - and a sharp cry. 

The creature growls, now on all fours, and the man - no, a boy, a boy like him - looks up, surprised. 

"I'm not going to hurt you." The boy says, no anger in his voice, all while cradling his bit arm. 

He smells of wood, of spice, of _home_ \- the creature pauses, looking at him for real. 

The boy is young, younger than him. Brown hair, brown eyes, and a skin tone darker than most here. Yes, this one is from there, from home. He is dressed like the one who hurt him, in navy blue, with a sword and gun tucked away in his belt. 

The boy watches as the creature tries to take a step forth, but instantly crumples back to the ground. 

“Don’t try to move.” 

The creature ignores him, tries again, fails, and again, and again, until the scent of blood becomes too strong and the pain, too overwhelming. 

All his panic comes out in a single desperate whine as he flops over once more, his body simply refusing to move. 

He blacks out again.

\----------

When Daud was young, his mother used to tell him,

"Never trust the humans, they are monsters at heart, all of them." 

Daud would nod, repeat it back to her, and his mother would take him into her arms, kissing the back of his head, running her warm fingers through his hair. Her fingers would always shake with a strange kind of vulnerability, echoing some kind of hidden fear, anger, or despair, and Daud, even at a young age, wished he could destroy all the monsters his mother hated, and make her fingers finally stop shaking. 

She did this every day, sometimes multiple times a day, and who knew, years later, that this is the one thing Daud would miss, more than the Serkonan sun, more than the salt-tinged breeze blowing in from the sea. 

Their days had been simple, living away from civilisation deep in the forests. Alone, just the two of them, far away from the monsters Daud both hated and feared. 

Hunting by themselves, taking what nature provided – only what was needed, never more, not like the humans. 

They – termed werewolves by humans - were peaceful and social creatures. 

In the past, they dominated the cold forest terrain of Tyvia, far up north, braving through the coldest of winters in packs up to thirty strong. Chasing down prey, playing with pack mates, trekking through vast lands of forest. 

Daud’s mother always had this broken look on her face whenever she told him stories of their kind, as if her soul had been torn into two. A pack life ran in their blood, she had said, it was part of instinct, to be surrounded by family, hunting together, eating together, playing together. 

His mother’s face would darken then, turning as grey as the fur that covered her skin when she was in her wolf form. 

She would tell Daud, with so much spite in her voice, about the Overseers, about the nasty humans, how their kind were deemed heretical and unnatural just because they were _different_. 

They were hunted down, one by one, and killed in such cruel ways that made Daud flinch back then. 

Their kind were loyal to the core. Pack was family, and abandoning one another would be like ripping out your soul and tossing it into a fire. 

The Overseers knew that, and they knew that as long as they captured just _one_ of the pack, the whole pack would come for him soon after. All they had to do was tether one to a pole, get a knife, let his pained howls fill the air and just wait. 

Whole packs were taken down like this. 

They tried to resist after that, but to go against their instinct and their nature was near impossible, and after numerous sleepless nights hearing pained howls of their comrade echoing into the night, they all ultimately caved in, rushing out to save their precious family member no matter the cost. 

Almost none of them survived. 

A pack life became a liability then, dangerous.

So they had a choice. 

To live alone, secluded from the rest of their kind, knowing fully well that for the rest of their lives, their souls could never be whole. Something would always be missing, and they would always be miserable. Or to stay in a pack, and live in constant fear knowing that someday, the Overseers would come down with their rope and knives, being forced to watch your whole pack be massacred brutally in front of your very eyes. 

Most chose the former. To them, the pain of having to live alone was still far less than the pain of having to see your family murdered. 

Their kind quickly scattered to the other isles after that, forced to don the guise of the enemy they detested more than anything else to blend in. 

That was the life Daud’s mother chose. 

Daud never dared to ask her what happened to his father, or her previous pack, but on certain nights when she thought Daud wasn’t looking, she would look up at the moon with this shattered expression, tears welling up, and Daud would _know_. 

Most of their kind lived with the humans, eating like them, living like them. It always felt like betrayal, living the life of their enemy, but in this age, when their kind were constantly persecuted for being different, it was the only choice they had. 

His mother refused to do that. 

She said she wanted Daud to know the joys of living as their kind. The hunt, the chase, the satisfaction of fresh kill, being so close to nature. 

Once, she was teaching Daud to hunt, chasing down a rabbit, when a loud howl pierced the air.

They both instantly recognised it. 

That certain timbre, tone, it was far too different from an ordinary wolfhound, or even a wolf. 

It was one of their kind. 

Both of them immediately looked up, his mother with a coat of grey, and him, smaller, coat of brown. His mother howled back, jubilant now, and a howl returned in response, equally jubilant. 

They chased down each other through the forest, and when they met, he - an older male - yipped, rearing up playfully, tail wagging. His mother responded in fashion, and then the wolf paused, noticing Daud, so much smaller, still a pup. The wolf howled, even happier - pups of their kind were so rare now. They played through the whole night, and the wolf showed them his home, a small inn in the forest, and his mother barked back, promising to visit. 

They never met him again. 

The next night when they howled for him, all they got was the familiar eerie silence. When they went to his home, all they found a battered mess, broken wood pieces everywhere, with the pungent smell of blood soaked in the air, mixing with that musky scent they already considered as pack. Family. 

There was no body to bury, only torn fur, and his mother picked up every strand she could scavenge, dug a hole, and buried it in. It was the best she could offer, and she sung her sorrow into the night, a loud howl that was once again replied with the all too familiar nothingness.


	2. His Past

Daud bites the boy again when he wakes. The boy yelps, but doesn't hit back. He just keeps cooing, softly, trying to calm him down. 

Daud growls, and the boy pulls away even more. 

Half of his face feels swollen, tender where a long cut draws down from the top of his head down to his cheek, only narrowly missing his eye. Daud’s body is covered in crude bandages, torn cloth of some kind, but clean, and when the boy finally backs away far enough for Daud’s instincts to stop firing up, he catches a whiff of that scent again. Spice, wood. So much like home. 

But the boy is human. And humans are monsters. 

"I just want to help." The boy murmurs softly.

Daud doesn’t care. The boy is human, Daud _hates_ humans. 

And then Daud finally surveys his surroundings, unfamiliar, some small forgotten alleyway that is _not_ the same place where he was at a day ago (a few days..?). 

Had the boy carried him here? Where is he? 

Daud pushes himself back on all fours and tries to walk to take a better look at his surroundings. A sharp pain through his hind leg makes him whimper, and tumble back to the ground. 

"It's broken. It's going to take some time to heal." The boy says, reaching out again, and Daud snaps at him in warning, snarling from deep inside his chest. 

The boy withdraws, considering Daud for a short moment, big brown eyes blinking slowly. 

“Are you hungry?” 

Daud blinks once, and sniffs the air when the boy tentatively takes out a small tin of whalemeat, prying it open and slowly sliding it across the floor, watchful of Daud’s fangs. 

…Did he bring this for him? 

Daud looks up at the boy, only slightly younger than him. 

He’s…handsome, for a human at least. His facial features are very well-formed, a sharp jawline, large eyes, thin nose. But looks can betray, and deep inside past that pretty face and pretty eyes, Daud knows that he’s a monster just like everyone else. 

The tin of whalemeat inches closer. Daud’s mouth waters uncontrollably, but he remains where he is. He doesn’t trust this human. 

“You should eat.” 

Daud doesn’t, and the tin is waved in front of him. 

“Please?” 

Daud looks away, and the boy’s shoulders fall. 

“I’m only trying to help.” 

Daud continues to ignore him. 

And then the boy sighs, setting the tin on the ground and standing back up. His arm is freshly bleeding from Daud’s latest bite, with another bandage tied close by. 

Daud waits until the boy leaves, scent fading into nothing, before he finally turns back to sniff at the opened tin of whalemeat. 

As far as he can tell, it hasn’t been poisoned or tampered with. It is what it is: salted whalemeat. 

Daud gingerly gets back up on all fours and limps over to the tin, lowering his head and licking the surface of the meat. 

Salty, cold too, and Daud gives it another lick. And another. And another. 

And then he bites in, teeth sinking into the precious lump of meat and tearing out manageable chunks to swallow. 

The meat tastes like over-salted rubber, but Daud can’t afford to be choosy at this point, and he eats it all. 

When his belly is full and the empty can is nudged away with a push from his nose, Daud limps back to the corner, curling up in the driest place in the alleyway – which isn’t very dry at all. 

It is awfully cold, the clouds loom over menacingly, but there is no shelter to be found in this small dank alleyway. 

His body hurts everywhere, his wounds are searing and Daud tucks his head into himself, unable to stop a whimper from escaping. 

He’s afraid. 

If he can’t walk, he can’t run, and if he can’t run, it means he can’t escape. 

He recalls a past lesson from his mother – his heart aches at the thought – that shifting between wolf form and human form is very energy-consuming. It can only be done when the body is well and functioning. If he is badly hurt as a wolf, he can’t shift back, and likewise if he is hurt as a human. 

This meant he was going to be stuck in his wolf form until he recovers, which – judging from the pain assaulting his entire body – is going to take minimum _weeks_.

Daud’s heart sinks. 

He’s afraid. 

The dark clouds above finally start to let loose their latest load of rain, and chilling raindrops start striking down hard on Daud’s fur, like bolts from a crossbow. Daud closes his eyes, now completely soaked, body still ravaged by constant waves of pain.

He’s afraid.

But the raindrops are merciless, increasing in intensity as they pour down from the sky, and Daud whimpers again, curling up even more. 

He’s _alone_.

\----------

Daud’s alone when he first did it.

His very first kill by himself, without his mother’s help. 

He was so ecstatic then, holding the dead rabbit in his mouth, his tail wagging from side to side. The rabbit was still warm, blood flowing out of the puncture wounds made by Daud’s teeth and trickling down his throat. A messy kill, his mother would lecture him about it once again, but Daud didn’t care.

It was his first kill. The _first_ one he accomplished alone. Daud couldn’t care less if it had one bite mark too many. 

He was trotting back home, as fast as his still-maturing legs would go, and he instantly knew something was wrong when he smelled the faintest thread of ignited whale oil in the air. 

Just barely a whiff, and it instantly sent a chill down his spine, the fresh fear tightening into a thick coil at the base of his stomach. 

It was the same smell in the air as the night when that wolf they befriended disappeared from the world. 

The stench didn’t fade, growing stronger as Daud drew closer, until it became impossible to ignore or deny. 

The sounds in the forest were the same as the day before, and every day since Daud could remember, and yet, so _different_. 

Something was missing. 

Something was very wrong. 

Daud’s sprint slowed to a slow jog as he spotted a patch of blood at a nearby tree. 

It smelled foreign. 

Another patch of blood, this one splattered on the grass. And fur of an unmistakeable grey. 

Daud’s thoughts went blank. 

A few more ominous steps, and he came across a large patch of fur. Grey. Too big to be just mere strands. 

No, It was a _body_. 

Daud’s jaws went slack, and the limp rabbit fell out. 

It was as still as the body in front of him.

\----------

Daud has no idea how much time passes, but he’s shivering and utterly miserable when he hears footsteps rushing towards him, somebody sprinting, the smell of spice and wood, and then-

A thick coat is gently draped over him. 

It is not waterproof, it gets soaked within seconds, but it is _warm_ , filled with the scent of home, and Daud closes his eyes again.

\----------

Daud didn’t even get the luxury to mourn or bury his mother.

He remembered nudging his mother, still in utter shock, disbelief, because he knew, he _knew_ , that his mother couldn’t possibly be dead. The world had taken so much from Daud from such a young age, and the world couldn’t take her too. 

She couldn’t be dead. 

She _couldn’t_. 

Daud tugged, and bit, and prodded, all with growing urgency, but his mother remained still. Still as the lifeless rabbit beside her. 

Lifeless. Dead. 

And then in the haze of Daud’s mind came screams, shouts, and he instantly reared backwards when he heard a whizzing shot through the air. 

Daud jerked to the side. 

It’s _them_. 

The people in masks, the people armed with pistols and swords, the _Overseers_ , and they’re pointing to Daud with their smoking guns, ready to end him like how they ended his mother, and probably his father, and _everyone else his mother held dear._

Then suddenly, Daud could hear his mother’s voice ring out, as clear as day, like it did a million times before when she told Daud what to do if the Overseers came. 

“Run, Daud. Run, and don’t look back. Don’t ever let them catch you. And-” 

Daud was off even before the last part echoes in his mind. 

“-Whether I’m there or not, _I love you_.” 

Daud could hear shots in the background, but he just kept running, never looking back, trying not to think of the feel of his mother’s soft fur against his, her gentle warmth, the last time he’d told her ‘I love you’. 

It had been too long ago. 

But there was no time for regrets. 

That very night, Daud snuck on board a ship off to Dunwall.

\----------

The boy returns in the evening, when the rain slows to a slow drizzle.

He has another tin of whalemeat in hand (with a fresh bandage around the forearm). 

“Hey. How are you doing?” 

Daud pokes his head out of the sodden coat and lets out a low growl when the boy comes an inch too near. The boy immediately stops, and squats down to Daud’s level. 

“Still as feisty as ever.” The boy grumbles, but smiles. “The rain was horrible, wasn’t it? I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you something better.” 

Daud continues to watch the boy, tensing up. 

He still doesn’t trust this one. 

If he wasn’t injured, he would have long ran off, escaped far away. 

“Could I have it back though? My coat.” The boy begins. “I got scolded by the Guard Captain earlier.” He admits sheepishly. 

Daud doesn’t move, and the boy reaches out, inch by inch. Daud has to make a conscious effort not to snap up, and the boy’s fingers touch the hem of the soaked coat. Daud still doesn’t move, and the coat is slowly pulled off his body, sliding past his fur. The coat is returned back to the boy in a wet bundle, and Daud tenses even further, feeling newly exposed. 

The boy merely smiles and pulls open the whalemeat tin, sliding it towards Daud. Daud’s mouth waters against his will. 

The tin nudges against Daud’s nose, the scent too overpowering for Daud to ignore. His tongue laps over the meat before he can help it, and teeth quickly buries in. 

Daud can’t seem to care that the boy is watching him; he’s too hungry. 

The tin is licked clean within minutes. 

Then the boy’s stomach suddenly makes a loud sound, and Daud freezes. 

What was that?

“Ah. Sorry.” The boy apologises softly. 

Daud sees the boy stare at the empty tin with this strange look on his face, and some part of Daud goes cold with realisation. 

_That was all the food the boy had._

And Daud just ate everything. 

But the boy smiles, seemingly unbothered. 

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” 

And for once, Daud is truly _confused_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the support for this story! I was pretty nervous about posting this, but I'm glad that people like it.
> 
> Another thing is that updates for this fic will unfortunately, be quite sporadic, maybe once every 2-3 weeks and I'm sorry for that. I still hope that you'll enjoy this fic nonetheless! 
> 
> Thank you! :)


	3. Forbidden

The boy comes back every morning and evening, always with a can of whalemeat just for Daud. He sits by the corner as he talks to Daud, telling him all about his day. 

Daud eats what he is given without much complaint. He has no idea when the boy’s goodwill will end, and he will take advantage of it as much as he can. He’ll recover quickly, and finally leave this horrible alleyway for good. 

He barely ever pays attention to what the boy is talking about, but some part of him acknowledges that maybe he just doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to see this boy as anything more than the nameless forgettable shadow he should be. 

Even so, it gets increasing more difficult to ignore that sinking feeling he gets whenever he catches that boy stare longingly at the whalemeat. 

It’s guilt, he knows. He’s growing a _conscience_ , and it’s laughable. He still clings to some shred of moral goodness even though the world has done nothing to encourage it, and that part of him knows that what he’s doing is _wrong_. 

But he thinks of his mother, his broken life, his kind being killed for no discernible reason, and every charitable feeling he can harness towards this human instantly fades. 

All humans are monsters, and this one will be no exception. He must not forget. One day that whalemeat will turn into a knife, and all his mother tried to teach him would be for naught. 

Except the boy _keeps_ coming back. 

He keeps coming back, and he keeps offering that tin of whalemeat, thrusting it in Daud’s face with that stupid goofy smile of his, as if it doesn’t matter, as if he isn’t growing more tired and pale each time Daud sees him. 

Until one day Daud smells blood on him when he arrives. 

He’s trying to hide a limp, but Daud can see him flinch each time he takes a step. The boy doesn’t greet him, not like he usually does, and he doesn’t offer that same smile when he pushes the opened whalemeat to Daud. 

Daud stares at the tin, sniffs it a few times. 

He’s hungry, he won’t deny that. 

He should just eat it all, get well and leave as soon as possible, but he casts a glance at the meat, back at the boy (who still hasn’t said a single word), and back at the meat again. 

That stupid guilt is back, gnawing deeper at the edge of his mind. 

Daud pauses. 

And then he sticks out his snout, carefully nudging the tin back towards the boy. 

The boy stares in surprise, dumbfounded. 

“I’m not hungry.” He lies, even as his eyes fixate on the meat. 

Daud says nothing, and a long moment passes before the boy finally picks up the whalemeat, taking a small bite. 

“…I had a bad day today.” The boy says very quietly. 

Daud would have scoffed if he was in his human form. As if that was of any doubt when the boy came here looking so glum. 

The whalemeat tin is shared between them after that day. 

Daud is always given the larger half.

\----------

Dunwall was too cold for young Daud, too big, too _cold_.

When he first stepped out from the ship, late at night and shivering, all Daud wanted was to press up against his mother’s fur, bury into her warmth. 

Except- 

She’s dead. She’s _gone_. 

And Daud trotted around in the dark, nose assaulted by so many foreign smells. 

He found a small alleyway to sleep in, but he barely got an hour of sleep before he was rudely awakened and chased away by some brute, yelling at him, 

“Fucking mongrel!” 

He got more rude phrases tossed at him within a mere hour. 

But Daud didn’t say a word, didn’t bark, or cry out, he just skittered away like the mongrel he was beginning to _think_ he was, because why in the Void would the world be so cruel to him otherwise? 

He stole his very first sandwich that same night, from some worker walking down the street, and he didn’t feel the slightest bit sorry when he did so.

\----------

“I think I should name you something.” The boy says one morning, while watching Daud gobble up his half of the whalemeat. “I don’t think I can keep calling you ‘hound’.”

Daud shoots him a look to tell him exactly what he thinks of that idea, but the boy continues thinking out loud, unbothered. 

“Shadow?” 

Daud doesn’t respond. 

“Scar?” The boy frowns. “Hm, no, that’s just _rude_.” 

The boy falls into a silence, pondering, and then Daud suddenly realises that he has no idea what the boy’s name actually is. He’s always been ‘boy’ to Daud. He’d probably introduced himself before, but Daud didn’t pay attention to it. 

“What about Caine?” 

“Jonathan?” 

“D-” 

Daud’s ears perk up instinctively.

“-avid?” 

Daud’s ears fall. 

“You like David?” 

Daud does his best to make a scowling face at the boy, and the boy laughs. 

“Hey, it’s not that bad a name! It’s still better than C-”

“ _Where are you, you fucking Serkonan shitbag!!_ ” A voice suddenly yells, and both Daud and the boy flinch. 

“I know you’re here!! And I told you not to be late!!” 

Daud hears the boy curse under his breath – it is so odd to hear him do so - before he hastily gets back up. 

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” The boy gives an apologetic smile. “But I’ll see you later!” 

Daud blankly stares at him without saying a thing, but watches as the boy darts away, his scent fading into the distance.

\----------

As a child, Daud had dreams about defying all expectations and having his own pack, hunting in the wild, living free.

In some ways, he couldn’t help the way he felt. Having a pack was instinct, seeking out people of his kind was nature, part of his identity, almost like food and water, it was a _necessity_.

He always thought he’d be the one to finally bring back the wolves and reclaim their territory in the north. He’d always dreamt of it, being the _special_ one to succeed when all others failed. 

Years later, Daud learnt why dreams were called _dreams_. He learnt that there was a distinct difference between what he wanted and what he could have. 

Was this punishment? Daud often wondered. And if so, _why?_ What had he ever done wrong to deserve this? 

What was so wrong with him that the world deemed it necessary to see him _suffer?_

\----------

Daud has gotten mostly used to the boy, his smell, and has started to anticipate his arrival every day, because that is the only time he has company and food, when he’s not treated like some dirt rag.

He’s healing well too, and he can’t wait to be able to leave. 

One day, the boy offers Daud the usual half (the bigger half) of whalemeat, and Daud gobbles it up without thinking too much into it. He’s close to finishing the last morsel when he feels the faintest pressure on his neck, like something touching his fur- 

Daud snarls and draws back, immediately on the defensive. 

The boy quickly pulls away, eyes tracking Daud’s teeth cautiously. 

Daud wouldn’t have bitten him, it was just a threat, but Daud also realises in that second that he’s lost the desire to do so a long time ago.

“Sorry.” The boy mumbles, but Daud can still see that shimmer in his brown eyes, resolute, challenging. Daud growls another time for extra measure, but that shimmer doesn’t fade. 

The boy tries to pet him a total of three times that day until Daud gets completely fed up, eyeing the boy constantly, daring him to make a move again. 

The boy only smiles, still undeterred. 

He keeps repeating this strange ritual each time he comes to see Daud, until one day he comes in with puffy eyes, a letter in hand. 

The boy offers food like always, but he doesn’t smile, doesn’t try to pet Daud like he tries to do, just sits there gloomy and sad. 

Seeing that makes Daud _angry_ of all things, and he limps over as best as he can, regarding the boy carefully. 

The boy looks at him, and then his eyes start to water. A sob comes. Another, and then the boy bursts into tears. 

Daud freezes, not knowing what to do. 

“My mother-” It breaks into a loud sob, and the letter the boy’s holding is tossed to the ground. The boy keeps wiping his cheeks, his swollen eyes, but the tears don’t stop.

He looks miserable, and that somehow makes Daud _angrier_. 

Daud doesn’t realise how close he is to the boy until his wet nose bumps into the boy’s salty cheek. 

The boy jumps, brown eyes meeting Daud’s, and in a single motion, the young boy has his arms wrapped around Daud’s neck, fingers clutching onto his fur tightly. 

Daud has no idea how to react, what to do, but biting this boy is the last thing on his mind right now, and he stays right there, letting the boy hug him. It hurts his leg to stand there like that, each tiny movement making his foot sear with pain, but Daud can't seem to want to move away. 

He just stands there, waiting for the boy to calm down. 

Sobs slowly quieten down to sniffles, and then to an odd eerie silence, before the boy finally moves again, giving Daud’s fur one final rub before pulling away. 

The boy still doesn’t smile though, and Daud has no idea what motivates him to close the distance again and lick the boy’s face. Like how his mother would do to him when Daud sulked for a day. 

It tastes salty. 

A short giggle escapes the boy, and his lips curl into a gentle smile. 

Something in Daud lightens at the sight. 

“Thank you.” The boy says. 

All of a sudden, the thought of leaving this place, usually at the forefront of his mind, retreats to the back of his mind.

\----------

Daud’s injuries continue to heal throughout the weeks.

He’s close to a full recovery now, and the boy is smiling more, laughing more. 

The day he manages to stand without stumbling makes the boy squeal out in excitement, throwing his arms around Daud’s neck. 

The boy caresses his fur softly, laughing, and Daud’s tail is wagging, for the first time in a very long while. 

Lying together and eating becomes a habit after that. The boy tells him all about his day as they do so, and Daud finds himself actually interested, listening attentively to every word, already dreading the moment the sun sets and the boy has to leave. 

One day Daud is resting in a corner as per usual when he finally smells that signature scent, spice and wood. 

Daud instantly perks up and gets up on his feet, waiting. 

The boy turns up a minute later, panting, holding his usual can of whalemeat in one hand. 

The boy immediately grins at the sight of Daud. 

“Hey there!” 

The whalemeat can is put down, and then the boy reaches out to Daud. 

Daud doesn’t back away, moves closer in fact, allowing the boy to caress his fur in soft, rhythmic strokes. 

It feels…nice. 

The boy pets him in silence for a minute or two, until the hand is removed and Daud barely suppresses the soft whine from coming out of his throat. 

“I got promoted today.” The boy says, while fiddling with the whalemeat can. 

Daud tilts his head at him. 

“Well it’s…nothing special, not the Royal Protector or something…I’m just a captain, but…” The boy lets out a soft laugh. “…I didn’t expect this.” 

The whalemeat can is finally opened, and the boy digs into his half eagerly, pushing over Daud’s portion. 

“I’ll get to stay in a bigger room too. I’m still sharing it, but I’ll actually have my own little space.” 

Daud chews on the whalemeat, listening. 

“I don’t know if they’ll let me keep you,” The boy pauses, and then frowns. “Hm…probably not…” 

Daud doesn’t say a word, but obliges when the boy reaches out to pet him again. 

There is a long silence. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

The words cause a pool of warmth to explode in Daud’s stomach, and his only response is to let out a soft sound, pressing further into the boy’s touch. 

_I’m glad you’re here too_ , he wants to say. _My friend_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the support for this fic :) I'm sorry that I'm unable to update this regularly, but I promise that I'll do my best to write as much as I can when I have the energy and time to do so! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)


	4. Moving On

The guilt comes, much later. 

The boy has been nothing but earnest, unbelievably kind, and what has Daud done? Take his kindness without giving back a thing, and _lie_ to him. 

The problem is: 

_The boy doesn’t know._

Daud is not an ordinary animal. He’s… _more_ than that. But would the boy still look at Daud the same way if he knew who he was? _What_ he is? 

It makes his insides curdle in a way he never thought he could feel – certainly not to a human at least – and that feeling only sinks in deeper as the days slowly become weeks. 

Months. 

He starts to ponder about revealing himself to the boy, but something keeps holding him back. 

He remembers all the stories his mother had shared with him. Hearts broken, lives lost. Oh so much _blood_. 

None ever had a happy ending. 

So why should he be any different? 

But time goes by, and Daud just… _can’t_. 

He can’t keep living like this. Living a lie, living as half of himself. 

He wants this boy, this one boy who’d shown him kindness, who’d become his friend, who’d become part of his world, to _know_. 

Daud just wants to be _himself_. Why is that so hard? 

And then one day, the boy tells him, 

“I kind of wish you could talk sometimes. I’m sure you have plenty of stories to tell.” 

He’s kind when he says so, lips quirked up into a small smile, and Daud’s heart actually stops for a second, convinced that this boy knows his secret.

Thump.

Thump. 

…Then the boy sighs. 

“That’s quite silly, isn’t it?” 

The boy gives out a short laugh, dismissing the thought as he turns away. He continues petting Daud, and doesn’t at all notice that forlorn look in Daud’s eyes. More intelligent than a mere hound, desperate, hoping against all odds that somehow…this boy will understand. That he’ll accept Daud for who- what he is.

Daud squeezes his eyes shut, and with an exhale, he finally makes up his mind. 

Even if his story doesn’t have a happy ending, he still needs to _try._

-

Daud had stolen some clothes just for this. A simple brown tunic, nowhere near thick enough to shield against Dunwall’s cold, and boots that were a size too small for him. 

He had stared at himself in a muddied mirror after changing, not really recognising himself after spending months as a wolf. He found the sensation of clothes strange, a little too rough on his bare skin, but at the same time, strangely comforting. 

And now, standing and fidgeting at the alleyway that Daud knows the boy will come across, he tugs on his shirt sleeve for the millionth time, waiting. 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but it starts drizzling when his ears (although human, are as sharp as they are if he was a wolf) finally pick up the sound of the boy’s footsteps. 

Daud peers up, sees the boy coming over – he’s much smaller and shorter now that Daud is not in his wolf form – and his throat goes completely dry. Will he recognise Daud? 

“H-”

The boy’s eyes flicker over, a dark shade of hazel that has long been seared into Daud’s memory. 

Daud freezes, suddenly self-conscious. 

What does he even look like? A lost boy? A boy that is so obviously homeless and poor? Does he look like anything at all? 

Every word he’s meticulously rehearsed over and over get choked in his throat, and he can’t utter a single word. The sound of the rain rain fades away, until he can hear nothing but the beating of his heart against his ribcage.

“Uhm…Can I help you?” 

Daud flinches. He can’t help it. He can’t remember the last time he’d been addressed as a person. As _him_. 

The boy cocks his head to the side, waiting. But Daud still can’t speak. He feels suffocated, unbelievably exposed, vulnerable, and so very _small_. 

“Are you okay?” 

A raindrop strikes him in the eye just then, and Daud flinches. He forces himself to swallow, and nod. The motion feels strange. 

“That’s good.” The boy smiles, just as he swivels his feet away, about to walk off. 

Daud’s heart leaps.

“W-wait.” 

The boy halts. 

“Hm?” 

“I…” And the words fall apart again. 

“Are you sure you’re okay..?” The sheer concern in the boy’s voice, completely genuine, somehow startles Daud. 

“…I’m fine.” 

“Huh…okay then. Uhm…have a nice day!” The boy beams at him, waving a little. 

Daud stands there dumbly, unable to vocalise a single thought, unable to do anything but fidget and stare back. 

The boy starts to walk away, and Daud can only watch him go, shoulders falling. 

The stab of disappointment hurts more than he expects. This isn’t going to work. Why did he ever think- 

“Oh.” 

Daud jerks up. The boy suddenly turns around and jogs to him. 

“Uhm…this is weird but…” The boy pauses. 

Daud’s heart nearly stops. 

“…Have you seen a hound around here?” 

Daud blinks. 

“He’s brown, a little bigger than the Overseers’ hounds..?” 

Every emotion vanishes, and Daud’s mind goes completely blank. 

“-kind of feisty? Growls at anyone and anything..?” 

It’s supposed to be his chance, his moment. All he has to say is-

 _It’s me. I’m the one you’ve been looking for._

But he stares into the boy’s eyes, and-

They’re still the same shade of hazel that Daud is all too familiar with.

And yet, it’s like staring at a stranger. 

They don’t have that spark, the one that lights up whenever the boy sees Daud as a wolf in the alleyway, the one that comes alive every time the boy lays a firm hand in Daud’s fur, methodically stroking down his back. 

The cold realisation hits Daud like a bucket of ice being poured over him. 

The boy doesn’t recognise him. 

All Daud’s ever been to him is a hound. An animal. A pet, because that’s all that the boy can see, isn’t it? 

He may treat Daud kindly, give him food, but he’s never once met Daud on his level, treated him like a _real_ person, not some dumb hound with only half a brain. 

Daud huffs silently, his insides suddenly unbearably cold. 

He thinks of his dead mother, her fractured life, all the bodies of his kind that could have been his pack members, his family. 

His heart aches at the thought, and for once, he wants so badly to rip apart this disgusting side of himself and be just like the boy, no coat of brown, no eyes that shine in the dark, to just be simple _friends_.

But that isn’t possible right? 

The boy would never accept him if he knew what Daud truly was. 

They have never been the same. This boy is normal, is whole, and Daud is merely half of what the boy is. They are just not the same. 

Daud suddenly gets choked with emotion, and he opens his mouth. 

“No.” 

Has his voice always been that harsh?

“I haven’t seen such a _mutt_.” 

His eyes start to sting. Daud keeps his gaze tilted downwards away from the boy, but he still catches the boy’s lips turning into a frown at the corner of his eye. His heart aches once. 

This is the right decision. 

The past few weeks were just a façade. Something torn out from a convenient fairy tale, living inside a bubble of ignorance. 

Daud knows, if he flips the pages far enough, no fairy tale has a happy ending, and he doesn’t want to stick around to see that. 

He’s seen far too much of this world to expect anything less. 

The image of his dead mother flashes across his mind, and Daud flinches as if she was really here, cold and lifeless in front of him. 

_He’s been such a fool for wanting more._

“He’s not a mutt.” It’s barely audible, and Daud probably wouldn’t have caught it if his ears were of an ordinary human’s. Daud snaps up, bewildered. 

“I-” 

But the boy doesn’t hear any of it, doesn’t see the pleading tears in Daud’s eyes, or the way he keeps swallowing, trying to gather enough courage to just. Tell. _Him._

The boy just twists around and jogs off, just as the rain turns into a full downpour, battering down on Daud’s back. They feel so much like the rocks that kids sometimes pelt at him, laughing while they do so, and the coldness, the sadness, the loneliness, _everything_ \- it all comes crashing down. 

Daud lets out a ragged sob, and the tears finally spring free, rolling down his face, down his neck, all his sorrow spilling out just like the icy rain above. 

-

Daud never sees the boy again, but his mind can’t seem to let him go. 

The boy comes back like a phantom, casting doubt in his thoughts, acting as some kind of moral anchor throughout the years. 

It shouldn’t bother him as it does, but the boy is _there_. There when he steals sandwiches, there when he steals clothes from the laundry line, and there when he steals a new journal and pen from some vendor. 

It’s _infuriating_.

Even more so, when he has a young wolfhound pinned under his paw in some back alley, snarling and bucking to get free, and all his mind can think of is that boy with that ridiculous mop of hair, smiling and laughing. 

The wolfhound claws up at him, growling, and Daud merely growls back, pressing his claws deeper into his flesh – not enough to puncture, but enough to hurt. 

The carton of food that started this whole fight in the first place is tossed to the corner, bruised and forgotten. 

The wolfhound snarls once more, and all of a sudden, like a switch being flicked, all the fight goes out of him. 

What? 

Daud’s claws retract a little as he glances down at the wolfhound, with renewed curiosity and awareness. 

The wolfhound is heaving, fur of a dark brown, gaping at Daud as if- 

The wolfhound’s eyes are fixed on him, glimmering with a strange light, and it catches Daud’s attention immediately like a candle in the night. 

His eyes are filled with too much intelligence and fire for an ordinary animal. 

Daud goes cold. It can’t be. 

The wolfhound – no, a wolf, wolf like _him_ \- makes a soft noise, something between a whine and a bark, something Daud interprets as a ‘hello’, and he steps off the wolf, giving him enough space to roll back over and get up. 

He’s about Daud’s age, maybe a little younger, and he shakes off the layer of dust collected on his fur, ears perking up slightly as he focuses his attention on Daud. 

One of his kind. Like _him_. 

It is near impossible to extinguish the sheer happiness and relief that comes with that realisation. 

Daud finds himself getting tackled by the other wolf, no aggression whatsoever, but with the same joy Daud can feel bursting out. 

The feel of warm fur against his, the scent, mannerisms, everything.

The wolf yips - Daud has forgotten what that sounded like - and something in him awakens at that. It’s a trigger, like remembering how to live again, and instinct drives Daud to lean in and press into the warmth, snout buried in the other wolf’s fur as he soaks in the scent. 

This wolf smells of cigars, and of sunlight – even though it logically shouldn’t have a smell – and Daud breathes in deeply, making sure to fill every inch of his lungs with this wonderful scent. 

It’s too much like a drug, soothing every nerve in his body, so relaxing and calming. As if a bone-deep pain he’s been feeling for his whole life is at last gone, and his soul is finally, _finally_ in place. 

Wolf, like him. Friend. Family. _Pack_. 

Daud’s eyes shoot open instantly, and he jerks away. 

No, no, _no_. This is wrong, this can’t happen. 

The dead wolf flashes through his mind, his mother, and then finally, the boy. 

Daud hears a soft, confused yip. 

Cigars, sunlight, he is already like _family_ , and Daud recoils backwards even more.

Was this what his mother felt like? Trying to fight against instinct, trying to fight against who they _are?_

Attachment breeds suffering. The more attached he gets, the more it’ll _hurt_. That’s how it has always been, and how it will always be. 

Alone. 

Daud forces himself to think of his mother, feel that burning lick of pain, and finally-

His mind clears. 

He lets that searing grief and anger guide him, burn away that instinct he’s been cursed with, and he doesn’t look back once as he flees from the alleyway. 

Smoke. Sunlight. 

Gone. 

He’s a coward, he knows that. But he’s a coward that won’t give the world another chance to hurt him, and perhaps, that’s all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's been so long since I actually logged in, and even longer since I updated but here it is, finally :) I just really want to thank all of you for your undying support, it seriously means the world to me. I had a lot of trouble writing this particular chapter, due to writer's block and a general lack of motivation but it's finally done, and I hope you are happy with the result! 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you had enjoyed this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> A new adventure begins! This one (once again) uses a slightly different writing style from my other fics, so any comments for improvements would be greatly appreciated. 
> 
> This fic is inspired by all the animal-transformation glory from puppyblue's fics, and it would not have existed without the support from aeniala, estora, dreabean and taywen, so thank you very much! 
> 
> Lastly, thank you so much for checking out this fic, and I really hope you have enjoyed reading it :)


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